40 line story 

 It's about 3:50 in the morning, I think of a way to finish my work and crawl into my beckoning bed. All that stares at my face is the blank screen. I've started to write now. I sit in my white balcony freezing my skin off. Who knew Bangalore could be cold. I dint! The lights shining in the dark make a pretty picture, no movement but the wind can be detected. It whistles soft music in my ear; I switch off my I-pod. Music in my ears soft music so different from the music I generally listen to. If not for the wind I would feel all alone. My friends have all gone off to sleep all in the process of finishing off their work. The lights throughout out the house are on giving a false sense of existing human activity. I feel myself succumbing to sleep. I push back. I have to finish my work.

I look out the sky moves, its restless tonight. A dark menacing cloud passes slowly over, daring anyone to obstruct its path. It casts the land below into the deeper shadows of the night. It looks as if the earth itself stands still, preparing for war with the shadow of doubt etched in its face. The wind howls as if warning everyone about the impending disaster, the cloud rumbles on unafraid and the trees sway, as if trembling, rooted in one spot frozen with fear. I jump at a sound, then relax my heart it was just the watchman on his hourly rounds I calm down. Or try to.  Well this ought to keep me awake a while longer. I get up to look down, I see the ground not a very long drop from where I stand, but just enough to give anyone a broken neck. I shudder, this time not because of the cold.  I walk inside, all an effort to keep me awake and see the house cluttered. I grin to myself, "thank god mom isn't here, she'd flip out." Inwardly I laugh at my drunk-on-lack of sleep joke and move back to the balcony. The sky has changed again the cloud has moved on passing over the land granting mercy to it this once. The wind has died a bit, I have a feeling it won't last for long. It seems to want to retire for the night. I hope it doesn't, I'd rather brave the wind than the silence. There are still cars on the road, buses mainly but some cars, I wish I was in one of them. I miss driving.

                I see the bus depot, the buses are in the process of being washed, for some reason I find that insanely funny. I think the sleep's gone to my head. The streets are lit by the eerie orange glow of the street lights cascading off the alley walls. The more I write the more I feel it's a perfect night for a crime. Hope there isn't one though. I hear a car braking into a sudden halt, the tyres squealing in protest I can almost imagine the smell of burnt rubber. The darkness is lifting not by a measurable amount but enough for me to decipher.  The wind has died down completely. A light in one of the bathrooms switches on; someone else wakes at this hour. All other lights in the two adjoining apartments are off. It's dark except for the ground floor parking space lights.  I finally feel myself ebbing away into oblivion .My last broken thoughts are to get inside the house away from the cold. And then nothing. 

- Madhul